


Andraste's Mabari

by Ginipig



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Catharsis, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Loss of a pet, M/M, Post-Trespasser, Prompt Fill, Sad with a Happy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-10-13 02:05:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20574653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ginipig/pseuds/Ginipig
Summary: Cullen and Alistair cope in their own ways with the loss of the mabari Cullen adopted at the Exalted Council. Cullen, in particular, struggles with the loss of his canine companion.





	1. A Good Girl

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jellysharkbat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jellysharkbat/gifts).

> I received the following prompt from my friend [jellysharkbat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jellysharkbat/pseuds/jellysharkbat): _“Today we lost our dog. We weren’t ready. She went downhill so quickly. The house is pretty big and quiet without her now. Any chance of a lil’ cullistair dealing with the loss of their own pup? A little solidarity from the boys would be really nice right about now…”_
> 
> This is for you and your girl, jelly :)
> 
> Thus I present _Andraste’s Mabari_, a story in two parts. Chapter 1 is sad and cathartic; bring tissues. Chapter 2 is more about recovery; have tissues for a couple of sad bits but mostly if you cry at adorable and happy things.
> 
> _You know Andraste's old mabari._  
_He don't show up in the Chant._  
_And if you ask those holy sisters,_  
_Well, they'll say Andraste can't_  
_Have had some big old smelly wardog._  
_But all Ferelden knows it right:_  
_Our sweet Lady needed someone_  
_Who would warm her feet at night._  
-_[Andraste's Mabari](https://dragonage.fandom.com/wiki/Codex_entry:_Andraste%27s_Mabari)_, a popular, if historically unlikely, Fereldan tavern song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair and Cullen handle the loss of their mabari in their own ways at first. Then they turn to each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for pet death (not shown, but discussed) and severe grief.

Alistair woke when the bed shifted, head aching this morning as much as his heart had last night — and still was, he realized as his chest clenched. He stayed in bed, watching Cullen silently dress in between long blinks.

“What time is it?” he asked as Cullen sat to put on his boots.

“Early.” Cullen didn’t even glance up from the intricate laces he tied. “I’m going for a walk.”

“Are you going to take —” Alistair started automatically, strangling the last word into silence when he remembered his usual question didn’t apply anymore.

Cullen froze for less than an instant, but that was the only hint of emotion he showed.

Alistair’s throat burned, and tears stung his eyes. “You’ll be okay?”

Cullen dropped his booted foot to the floor and stood. “I am capable of walking alone, yes. The village is hardly —”

“I meant —”

“I’ll be fine.” For the first time, Cullen’s eyes met Alistair’s. If the puffy redness and dark circles were anything to go by, he hadn’t slept any better than Alistair. He laid a palm against Alistair’s neck and stroked his cheek with a thumb. “Will you?”

Alistair swallowed painfully, but he nodded. The last thing Cullen needed now was to be worried about him.

“I’ll be at the sanctuary the rest of the day if you need me,” said Cullen.

“I thought you said you wouldn’t go in today.” The rehabilitation and retirement home Cullen had opened for former templars had been operating for a few years now. “They can go without you for one day.”

“I need to go through the books.”

Ah. Alistair should have known last night’s promise wasn’t serious. Cullen’s way of coping with anything was to throw himself into work.

“Couldn’t you bring them here?” Alistair hated how pathetic his wavering voice sounded, but he didn’t want to be alone in the too quiet house today.

“I’d rather …” Cullen studied him for a moment. “I could, if you’d like.”

Alistair shook his head. “Never mind. Go do what you need to do. I’ll start to, uh …” He swallowed thickly. “Go through things.”

Cullen was infamously stoic, even around Alistair, but his brows twitched downward, creasing his forehead right down the middle before smoothing it again. “How about a compromise? I’ll go for a walk, spend a few hours at the sanctuary, and come back home to help. Then I can work on the books here the rest of the afternoon.”

Alistair shrugged. “Sure.”

He closed his eyes as Cullen leaned in and kissed him, lingeringly, on the forehead. “If you need me before that, send a messenger. Now try to go back to sleep,” Cullen said, and with one last peck to Alistair’s cheek, he left the room.

Alistair listened for her loud skittering and short bark, for Cullen hushing her like he always did, for the soft chuckle Cullen couldn’t help before he closed the door.

None of them came. In their place were Cullen’s quick and quiet bootsteps and the door opening and clicking closed.

Because she was gone. They’d held her last night as she slipped away, told her she was a good girl and that they loved her so much, and then carried her to the open field behind the house and buried her under her favorite tree.

Alistair stared at the rapidly blurring ceiling, the gaping emptiness in his chest swelling until he couldn’t bear it anymore. Snatching the closest pillow, he punched it again and again before burying his face in it and sobbing for the lost member of their family.

Maker, why was it always so bloody awful? She wasn’t the first mabari he’d ever cared about, but saying goodbye never got any easier.

Knowing he wouldn’t be able to follow Cullen’s last order — he’d cried himself to sleep last night and still hardly slept a wink — Alistair crawled out of bed, splashed some water on his face, and walked out of the bedroom and into the heady memories.

Her things were strewn everywhere — toys in every room in the house; nests she’d made in the main room, bedroom, and Cullen’s office; blankets on every piece of furniture; the plates she’d claimed as hers in the kitchen. They’d only had her for the few years since Cullen had saved her from Orlesians during the Exalted Council, but somehow she’d wormed her way into every part of their home. The only thing Alistair couldn’t find was her collar, which he could have sworn he’d placed on the nightstand before bed.

He spent several hours collecting everything in the middle of the main room, only to find himself with a pile that would likely outstrip one of his or Cullen’s belongings, possibly combined. The rest, he decided, could wait until Cullen returned home; he would suggest that they build a pyre near her grave and burn it all.

Cullen had wanted to build her a pyre of her own last night until Alistair shared the tradition of the Ash Warriors he’d met at Ostagar. When a warrior and their mabari died in battle together, the mabari was burned on the warrior’s pyre. But if the mabari fell and their human partner still lived, the mabari would be buried in a favorite spot so that the warrior and their brethren could venerate them. Occasionally, as their merry band traveled across Ferelden, they had come across small markers, usually under trees, dedicated to fallen mabari, and Alistair had never forgotten that. The mabari he’d slept with in the stables at Redcliffe never received such honors, and when Liss’s mabari died Alistair made sure he was buried next to her monument, but Alistair had always vowed that any mabari of his own would be revered like those of the Ash Warriors. (Who were all, of course, slaughtered along with the rest of the Grey Wardens at Ostagar. One of Alistair’s biggest regrets was that he’d been unable to lay them all to rest.)

Cullen had readily agreed to the rite, and thus she had been laid to rest like a warrior, despite having never fought alongside either of them in physical battle. Though they’d agreed that she had assisted them both, and Cullen in particular, in battles they’d fought with their demons even in retirement.

As the hour approached noon and Cullen remained absent, Alistair grew worried. He knew that, in all likelihood, Cullen had thrown himself into the finances of the templar home as a welcome distraction from his grief, but when the hour struck one he left to find out for sure.

The walk to the home wasn’t long, just on the opposite side of the village, and Alistair arrived in fifteen minutes only to be told that Cullen had left at least two hours prior.

The news made Alistair distinctly anxious. He’d worried that Cullen’s stoic facade would crack sooner or later, but perhaps he had underestimated the magnitude of Cullen’s grief.

On a whim, he stopped by the Chantry. Perhaps Cullen was struggling and needed to pray. That wasn’t unusual.

The only things he found in the Chantry were intense guilt, self-loathing, disgust, and awkwardness, in that order, but that was pretty standard (and why he didn’t make a habit of visiting). No Cullen.

If he were honest, aside from their house, the templar home, and the Chantry, he didn’t know where else Cullen might be. He thought about following the path of the walks Cullen had taken with her every morning, but he’d never risen early enough to go with them, so he wasn’t sure of their routes.

So he headed back home. Perhaps they’d just missed each other, with Alistair leaving through the front and Cullen arriving through the —

Oh.

He knew exactly where Cullen was.

* * *

He approached quietly at first, attempting to hear what, if anything, Cullen might be saying.

But it was the sight that greeted him, more raw and painful than he could have imagined, that broke his heart.

Cullen knelt at the base of the tree, right in front of the fresh mound where they’d buried her last night, head in his hands, tearing at his hair. He was so upset and unaware of his surroundings that Alistair made it within fifteen paces without alerting him.

But Alistair knew two major things about Cullen. First, that after years of trauma and war, he was easily startled. And second, that he was a proud man.

At around ten paces away, Alistair deliberately shuffled in the grass and even kicked a rock and to his relief, Cullen stiffened; now, at least, he wouldn’t be caught off guard.

“Cullen?” Alistair asked softly.

Cullen clamored to his feet and roughly scrubbed his face. Then he said, in a far from steady voice, exactly what Alistair expected him to say.

“I’m fine.”

Alistair continued forward until they stood side-by-side, and only then did he notice the item in Cullen’s hands.

Her collar.

Oh, Cullen.

Alistair put an arm around his shoulders. “It’s okay if you’re not.”

Cullen sniffed. “I know. But I am. She was just a —”

“Don’t.” Alistair didn’t snap, but he was firm; Cullen flinched anyway. “You don’t mean that and you don’t believe it, so don’t disrespect her memory by even thinking she was ‘just’ anything.”

Cullen squeezed his eyes shut, bringing a shaking hand to his forehead.

His other hand grasped her collar in a white-knuckled grip.

“I didn’t expect it to —” Cullen exhaled a shaky breath that was almost a sob. “We only had her a few years. Why does it hurt so much?”

Alistair’s heart shattered into a million little shards, and he wrapped his arms around Cullen, mimicking the lingering kiss Cullen had given him this morning.

“The really important ones in our lives don’t need to be around for long to make a difference,” he whispered against Cullen’s temple. “She was a part of our family.”

Cullen’s entire body was filled with tension, and Alistair knew it was because he was attempting to keep everything inside.

He also knew that was the absolute last thing Cullen needed right now.

So he pulled away — eliciting the slightest whimper — took Cullen by the hand, and sat down in front of the freshly dug earth. Cullen followed without hesitation or protest, and that, more than anything, told Alistair just how poorly he was handling this.

Once they were both settled on the ground, Alistair took Cullen into his arms, and for a moment, it seemed like he would give in and just grieve.

But Cullen Rutherford was an incredibly stubborn man. He lay his head on Alistair’s shoulder, but said, voice tight as a drum, “Why aren’t you …”

“A complete mess right now?”

Cullen snorted.

“First of all, I was,” Alistair responded. “I bawled like a baby after you left this morning.”

Cullen frowned and moved to lift his head, but Alistair held it in place.

“Second … she didn’t imprint on me.”

Alistair felt Cullen jerk, as though his entire body wanted to release the tension, but he held it back like a sneeze or retch — or a sob.

“And third, this isn’t the first time I’ve lost a mabari. I grew up with them until they shipped me off, so I was young when I learned about loyal friends who are only around for a short time.”

Cullen shuddered, and Alistair held him tighter.

“And then after Liss … Lels and I agreed that her boy would be happier continuing to fight darkspawn, so I took care of him until he died.”

“How long?” Cullen’s voice was odd. Strangled.

“Less than a year.” Alistair pulled Cullen closer when he half-gasped, half-sobbed at that. “They don’t live long if their imprint goes before them.” Alistair closed his eyes to keep the tears in but added with a grin, “Hence _Andraste’s Mabari_.”

“I hate that song,” Cullen murmured into Alistair’s shoulder. “What sort of terrible drinking song talks about a mabari who — who —” His voice gave out, but Alistair didn’t need or even want him to finish.

“A Fereldan one, obviously.” He rested his chin on the top of Cullen’s head, and after a moment, he added thickly, “Eamon told me once that mabari live for one person, but we have to keep going because —”

Cullen buried his face in Alistair’s neck and wrapped his arms tightly around Alistair’s midsection.

Alistair let his tears fall freely; if Cullen didn’t know how to grieve their good girl, he would show him how. “Because someday another one might need us, and they aren’t as selfish as we are.”

Cullen didn’t make a sound, but his body began to shake, and Alistair felt his shirt grow damp as Cullen finally — _finally_ — let loose his pain.

Because Cullen had learned (due to horrific experiences Alistair would rather not think about) to keep his thoughts and emotions bottled up behind a mask of indifference, the few times he actually allowed himself to feel, he didn’t exactly know what to do. When angry, he snapped and said things he would regret; when happy, he would fumble with his words and laugh awkwardly. When sad, he let his tears escape, but he didn’t know how to cry.

A good, long cry was cathartic, a release of pressure and feelings that afterward left one spent and exhausted, but with a sense of peace and a renewed strength to continue on. It was a wound being lanced, painful and frankly a little gross, but for the purpose of cleansing and starting fresh.

Usually, when Cullen cried, he did so because he could no longer keep everything inside, and then he only released enough to keep the pressure from killing him.

But not now. Perhaps because the pain was simply too overwhelming — she had truly been a good, special girl — Cullen fully gave himself over to his grief. His body wracked with sobs, his tears flowed until Alistair’s entire shoulder was sopping, and he grasped onto Alistair, her collar still in his hands, so hard Alistair had to shift in order to breathe.

Alistair knew this was what Cullen needed right now, and so he just held his love close and let his own tears fall as they both cried for their dear, sweet, good girl.

* * *

When Cullen finally collapsed, exhausted, in his arms, Alistair kissed the top of his head.

“I don’t think I can do it,” Cullen said, words muffled slightly by Alistair’s neck.

“Do what?”

Cullen pulled away, out of Alistair’s hold, wiped his face, and ran his hands through his hair. Staring at the fresh earth, he said, “Be unselfish. I can’t do this again.”

Alistair rubbed Cullen’s back. “It always feels like that, right after. But then the right mabari comes bounding up to you, and —”

“No.” Cullen shook his head. “She’s it.”

“That’s okay, too,” Alistair said, unwilling to argue. If that was what Cullen needed to think in order to cope right now, he wouldn’t fight him.

But if he knew Cullen at all — and he liked to think he did — there would be another mabari in their lives some day.

Cullen knelt before the grave, bowing his head and giving the soil a little pat, before standing and slipping her collar into his pocket.

Then he took Alistair’s hand, and they walked together back to the house.

Because the last thing Alistair wanted was for Cullen to be blindsided when they got inside, he said, “I went through her things and put them all in a pile in the main room.” Cullen nodded, and Alistair smirked in response. “She had so much crap.”

Cullen chuckled. “You did spoil her.”

“Excuse me?” Alistair dramatically turned to look at him. “I spoiled her? You were the one who insisted she have a good retirement after what she probably went through in Orlais.”

“But you kept buying her toys.” Cullen glanced at Alistair from the corner of his eye, a smirk on his face.

“And you made sure she had a bed in every damned room!”

Cullen smiled and shrugged, not even bothering to argue with that.

As they approached the house, Alistair said, “I thought we could burn it all in a pyre near her.”

Cullen raised an eyebrow. “You want to set a fire underneath the tree?”

“Near.” Alistair rolled his eyes. “I said _near_ the tree.”

Cullen opened the door and stopped in his tracks when he saw the pile of her things. Alistair saw him stick his hand in his pocket before he took a deep breath and nodded.

“Okay,” he said, exhaling slowly. “But can we do it tomorrow?”

“Of course.” Alistair squeezed his hand. “Whenever feels right.”

“Tomorrow.” He released Alistair’s hand. “I have some letters I need to write for the sanctuary. I’ll be in the office if you need me.”

Alistair kissed his cheek. “Okay. I’ll be … around if you need me.”

Cullen gave a small smile and headed down the hall.

Later, when Alistair checked on him, he noticed her collar in a place of honor at the front of Cullen’s desk.


	2. Alistair, Cullen, and the Very Good Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Months later, Cullen is still struggling with his loss, and Alistair tries to help ... with mixed results.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for extended grief, possible depression. This one has a lot of cute bits though, and a happy and hopeful ending.

“Do you have it?” Alistair asked the moment he sat down.

“‘Why hello, Leliana,’” Leliana said, daintily sipping the drink she’d ordered before he arrived. “‘It’s been so long. How are you? Thank you for making the time to meet me in spite of your incredibly demanding schedule. And undercover, too!’”

“If you’re undercover, why did you just say your own name out loud?” Alistair asked. “It’s almost like you want people to recognize you.” He twisted in his chair, taking in the whole of the tavern.

Leliana tsked. “Please, try to act more suspicious. There may be a few children and drunks who haven’t noticed you.”

“I’m just looking for your handlers. I can’t imagine they’re too pleased you decided to sneak away from Val Royeaux without telling anyone.”

“If you’re looking for escorts, I wonder at your definition of ‘not telling anyone.’” Leliana cocked an eyebrow. “And you must still underestimate my abilities as a rogue and a bard if you think me unable to escape unnoticed, especially by those I myself hired.”

“Yes, yes, you’re very sneaky.” Alistair rolled his eyes. “Do you have it?”

“I do.” Leliana pursed her lips. “But for as long as your letter was, it didn’t contain many details.”

“I thought boring and vague was the proper way to write secret letters?”

“So he can be taught.” Leliana’s mouth quirked slightly. “Still, I’d like to better understand the reason I traveled all this way undercover with a highly secret package.” For the first time, her expression grew serious and concerned. “Cullen is unwell?”

“The last few months have been hard, which we both expected.” Alistair rested his arms on the table and stared at his clasped hands. “But he’s still in a fog, Lels. He’s up and off to the templar home before dawn, forgets to eat lunch, comes home after dinner, locks himself in his office, and works until the wee hours. Then he comes to bed, tosses and turns, and starts over the next day. It’s like the Inquisition all over again.”

Leliana nodded in silent acknowledgment and encouragement.

“His nightmares have flared up again.” Alistair blinked at his blurring hands. “I don’t think he’s had a full episode yet, but it’s only a matter of time. And he visits her every morning and evening. I thought burying her nearby would be a nice way to remember her, not a crutch that tethers him to his grief. I don’t know what else to do.”

Leliana sipped her drink once more. “And you’re sure this plan of yours won’t completely backfire and make things worse?”

“I’m not sure of anything. But do you have any better ideas?”

“I could send a summons. Surely he wouldn’t turn down a request from the Divine. Especially if I give him a long-term project.”

“As far as he’s concerned, you already did when you gave him the land and permission to open a rehabilitation and retirement home for templars.” Alistair shrugged. “I don’t think he’d trust anyone to run the place in his absence.”

Leliana nodded again. “Then I suppose we’re left with your idea, potential to backfire or no.”

She reached underneath the table and handed him the adorable, sleeping package he’d requested, and for a moment he was struck speechless under its spell.

Leliana smiled gently down at it. “Though I will always prefer nugs, I must admit this one made me question my loyalty.”

“You know, Andraste had a mabari.”

Leliana rolled her eyes. “Only according to drunk Fereldans.”

“Yes,” Alistair said, tapping his chin thoughtfully. “If only we knew someone with enormous influence in the Chantry who could change that.”

“And make the entire first verse obsolete?” Leliana pasted on her favorite innocent expression. “I would never.” She stood and, to Alistair’s surprise, kissed the fluffy package on the head. “I would, however, prefer that you keep my involvement out of this, for the sake of my relationship with Cullen.”

Alistair cocked an eyebrow, cradling the package in his arms. “Unless it works, of course.”

“Of course!” Leliana grinned and gave him a nice long hug before sobering once again. “I will pray for Cullen, and for you, old friend.”

“Thanks.” As Alistair turned to leave, he murmured at his sweet, snuffling parcel, “We’ll both need it.”

* * *

Cullen had just signed the parchment and leaned back, stretching, when he heard the front door open. Only then did he notice how far the sun had progressed across the sky.

He frowned. Alistair had left hours ago, muttering something about seeing a friend about a gift. Cullen still didn’t know if that was a joke or not, but Alistair had assured him he was only going to the tavern down the road. He should have returned long before now.

“Cullen?” Alistair called down the hallway.

Cullen headed for the main room. “You were gone a while. What were you —”

His voice died in his throat when he saw what Alistair held in his arms.

The tiny mabari puppy let out a happy little yip.

He took a step back as his chest constricted painfully, and as he often did these days, he grasped the collar in his pocket for comfort.

And then — as he also often did these days — he snapped.

“No. Get that thing out of this house. Now.”

He turned around and headed down the hallway.

“Let me explain,” Alistair said, following him.

Cullen continued toward the kitchen — and the back door. “There is nothing to explain. You went expressly against my _repeatedly stated_ wishes and brought a mabari into our home. And now you can take it back out again.”

He flinched at another high-pitched bark.

“Shh, not now,” Alistair muttered. “Cullen, please —”

Cullen whirled around. “No. We have discussed this numerous times. I said, in no uncertain terms, that I didn’t want another one.” His chest ached acutely, but that only fed his rage. “Yet here you are with a shiny new puppy. Did you think she could be so easily replaced?”

“What?” Alistair looked stricken, and a small (but shameful) jolt of pleasure surged through Cullen. “No! I know that nothing could ever —”

“Then why?” Cullen practically roared, releasing the pain in his chest at a volume that surprised even him.

Alistair’s eyes widened, and the puppy in his arms buried its face in his chest and whined.

“I’m sorry.” Cullen pinched his stinging eyes between two fingers and his thumb. “That was unworthy of me.”

Alistair’s expression melted into one Cullen had seen far too often lately — pity.

As Alistair took a step forward, Cullen took one back — he wanted that creature nowhere near him.

Alistair stopped and raised his free hand in a placating gesture. “You are still hurting —”

“And that” — Cullen waved a hand at the thing in Alistair’s arms — “is supposed to fix me?”

“It’s not healthy!” Alistair shouted. “You’re always tense, you never stop working, you haven’t been sleeping, and you’re this far from having an —”

“I am fine.” He spun on his heel and headed toward the back door, knowing he was fooling neither Alistair nor himself.

“I’m worried about you, and I thought maybe that if —”

“You thought wrong.” Cullen reached the door and shoved it open. “If it’s not gone by the time I get back,” he called over his shoulder, “I’ll be sleeping at the sanctuary tonight.”

Alistair might not believe him, but he wasn’t bluffing — he absolutely refused to spend the night under the same roof as that animal, no matter how small and borderline unhealthy it looked.

He wasn’t strong enough for that.

* * *

“I can’t believe him! I was in no way unclear. Why would he go behind my back and do something so expressly against my wishes?”

Cullen paced back and forth in front of the tree behind the house. At his words, he could hear a sigh of agreement as clearly as if she were standing in front of him.

“Exactly! And you should have seen the pathetic creature he had with him. I’ve seen mabari puppies before, and they should not be shorter than the length of a man’s forearm! His ‘gift’” — he put the word in finger quotes — “that was supposed to fix me is a Maker-forsaken _runt_?”

He heard quite a distinct growl followed immediately by a small whine.

Running a hand through his hair, he stopped and said, “Yes, I know that’s not particularly fair. But that doesn’t change the fact that I have told him on multiple occasions that I do not want another one. Not this soon, and likely not ever. And certainly not a puppy!”

He threw his arms up and started to pace again.

“Does he have any idea what that means? Neither of us are getting any younger, and I certainly don’t have the time or energy to keep up with a puppy in addition to my work at the sanctuary! Not to mention that we have no idea when —”

No. He couldn’t allow himself to think about Alistair’s eventual fate alongside everything else.

He sighed heavily and sat on the ground, reaching into his pocket and pulling out her collar, which he held in both hands and rubbed his thumbs over. “It’s just too soon.”

He remembered the times she’d rested her head on his leg, her presence comforting in its simplicity. She’d always known when he needed her, and Maker, had he needed her the past few months. He squeezed his eyes shut tight and scratched his knee the way he’d always scratched her between the ears.

Alistair was right — this wasn’t healthy. He knew that. But he didn’t know what else to do. It wasn’t as if her death had been unexpected; she’d declined over the course of several months, so they’d known it was coming. No, the unexpected part had been how much it had hurt, like a part of his heart had been carved out and buried with her.

Cullen had never had a pet before. His parents were farmers, and poor ones at that (as if there were any other kind), and although he and his siblings had begged for a mabari, their parents had always refused. Mabari were expensive, both to purchase and care for, and a war dog would be of little use on a farm.

So he’d been utterly unprepared for how painful such an animal’s loss could be. Weak and foolish, he always told himself. But every time he woke in the morning and she wasn’t eagerly awaiting her breakfast, every time he walked into a room expecting to see her napping or gnawing a bone and found it empty, every time he left for the sanctuary and missed her companionship during the brisk morning walk, he felt her absence as acutely as the day he’d lost her.

The crunch of grass behind him alerted him to someone’s presence, and he stiffened. He was certain that Alistair, a Warden for going on fifteen years now, knew how to be quiet when the situation called for it, but Cullen hated being approached from behind, and he would never cease to be grateful for Alistair’s forethought to create purposeful noise so he would never be unpleasantly surprised.

“Hey.” Alistair sat down next to Cullen, voice soft and almost reverent. Cullen was pleased to find that the creature he’d brought into their home was nowhere to be seen. “I’m sorry. You were right. I was out of line.”

Cullen tensed, waiting for the _but_ that was sure to come.

And as in any conversation with Alistair, he didn’t have to wait long for it to continue.

“But you’re scaring me.” Alistair placed a hand on Cullen’s back, and though Cullen couldn’t help a slight flinch, he didn’t pull away. “I see you turning in on and pushing yourself like you did during the Inquisition, and we both know that’s not sustainable. I guess I just …” He sighed heavily. “I felt like — I _feel_ like — I have to do something to snap you out of it. I knew you wouldn’t be happy at first, but I thought he’d win you over with his adorableness and you might give him a chance. I truly didn’t think you’d react that strongly. If I had, I wouldn’t have done it, and I’m sorry for that.”

Cullen nodded.

“Tomorrow I’ll see if there’s a merchant in the village who will take him. I only spent a favor to get him, not money, so surely someone will want a free mabari.”

Perhaps it would go to a good family who couldn’t otherwise afford one, and some Fereldan children would have what he didn’t growing up.

“That would be the best for everyone,” said Cullen. Then he frowned. “A favor? From whom?”

Alistair smirked, and it was a self-deprecating one. “Someone who specifically requested their name not be associated with what I was assured would be a terrible idea.”

Cullen snorted. Likely Varric was involved in some way, although the dwarf usually loved terrible ideas, if his books were anything to go by.

Alistair wrapped an arm around him and lay his head on Cullen’s shoulder, and Cullen’s vision went suddenly blurry.

“Thank you for trying,” he said, brushing his lips through Alistair’s hair. “But I —”

“I know.” Alistair took a breath. “About tonight, though —”

“It can stay outside.”

A disapproving snort and a short whine echoed in his mind.

“What?” Alistair lifted his head and pulled away. “You never made her stay outside.”

“I meant what I said. I do not want it in my house.”

“Cullen, he’s a puppy, and a little one at that. He’ll be cold and scared, and what if some big animal tries —”

“Perhaps you should have thought of that before you made a unilateral decision about the fate of a living creature.”

Cullen heard her again, a longer whine followed by a low growl. But though he clenched her collar in his fist, he vowed to ignore any and all auditory hallucinations.

Alistair stood. “Fine. I think you’re being unfair to an animal who isn’t to blame, but I screwed up, so I’ll take my lumps. I’ll sleep out on the porch with him tonight.”

“You will not,” Cullen snapped, jumping to his feet. “I won’t force you out of the house to sleep with a dog like …” He rubbed his forehead roughly.

Alistair shook his head, brows furrowed. “Like what?”

Maker, he was really asking. How could he not recognize the parallel to his horrible childhood?

An ache unrelated to any mabari squeezed Cullen’s heart, and without warning he pulled a surprised Alistair into his arms and against his chest.

“Um, okay.” Alistair leaned into the hug. “I’m definitely not worried right now. This is totally normal behavior for you. Everything is fine here.”

“You’re right.” Cullen held him closer. “I am being unfair. I love you, and neither you nor it will be forced to sleep outside.”

“Okay, good, I wasn’t looking forward to — oh. _Oh_.” Alistair tightened their embrace as he finally seemed to understand. “My dear, I love you, but the thought didn’t even cross my mind.”

That was the problem, but now wasn’t the time to discuss such things.

“Do whatever must be done for the creature,” Cullen said. “I will spend the night at the sanctuary.”

Alistair pulled back with a frown, taking Cullen’s face in both his hands. “Is it really so painful?”

A high-pitched whine sounded from the direction of her grave, but he ignored it as his chest constricted yet again.

Yes, it really was.

* * *

Alistair stood in the main room and sighed at the letter. Darkspawn always had the worst timing.

He turned to the little guy at his feet — he’d refused to give the puppy even a temporary name, lest he get too attached — and said, “Do you want to tell him, or should I?”

The little guy opened his mouth, tongue hanging out, and wagged his tail. He was smaller than any mabari puppy that Alistair had ever seen, and his fur was darker, and redder, too, almost auburn.

And Maker, he was _so damned cute_ Alistair could just die.

“You’re right, it should be me,” he said, immensely reasonable. “I got us into this mess. And I wouldn’t want him to, I don’t know, kick you in his anger.”

The past couple weeks had been … difficult. True to his word, Cullen had refused to have anything to do with the little guy, whose presence only seemed to increase all the horrible work habits Alistair had hoped he could ease. Cullen spent even longer hours away from the house, only to shut himself in his office at home upon his return. He barely ate and did, in fact, sleep at the templar home for several nights until Alistair finally managed to convince him that if the puppy stayed in the spare room at night, Cullen wouldn’t hear him and could continue to avoid him all he wanted during the day.

It was all unnecessary and almost cruel, the way Cullen blatantly ignored and averted his eyes from the little guy the few times they were forced to cross paths. Alistair wasn’t sure who it hurt more — Cullen with his broken heart, the little guy who only wanted to please and be loved, or himself, forced to watch them each bow their head in pain and disappointment after every failed interaction.

And apparently no one in the village or its surrounding areas wanted a free mabari puppy. Leliana had outright refused to assist, insisting that since Alistair had gotten himself into this mess, he could get himself out. He’d actually been trying, too, at least after the first couple days that he gave Cullen to cool off and potentially change his mind. Once it became clear that Cullen was going to be a stubborn bastard about the whole thing, he’d pestered everyone within a ten mile radius at least twice. He worried he might have to go all the way to Denerim to find someone to take the little guy, and there the chances that he would go to someone who might use (or abuse) him for nefarious purposes increased a hundredfold.

And now, in the middle of all this, he was being summoned to help with a darkspawn infestation in central Ferelden. He’d be gone for at least a week.

On the plus side, maybe one of his Wardens would be willing to take an adorable mabari puppy off his hands.

Not that fighting darkspawn was a good option for anyone, but at least the little guy would be able to fight like he was bred to. Given his enormous appetite and seemingly infinite stamina, he’d probably fit right in. And maybe Alistair could still see him every once in a while.

“Okay, you know the drill,” he said, pointing to the spare room down the hall.

The little guy slumped his sweet little shoulders, his tiny ears drooped, and he lay down at Alistair’s feet, head on his paws and giving a little whine.

“I know.” Alistair crouched and gave his head a scratch. “I’m sorry. This is my fault, and now I’m leaving you alone with him.” He sighed and sat heavily on the floor.

The little guy climbed into his lap and stood on his hind paws, his front ones against Alistair’s chest. Alistair leaned over so he could lick his cheek.

“There should be laws against being this cute,” Alistair said with a chuckle. “Thank the Maker that as a dog, you’re bound to use your powers only for good.”

The little guy gave a short yap, wagging his tail again, and Alistair tried not to think about how hard it would be to send him to his new owners, nameless or not.

“All right, off you go.” Alistair tilted his head down the hall, and the little guy slowly climbed down and practically moped toward the spare bedroom. He might have even given a little doggy sigh.

After closing the door so the little guy couldn’t escape, Alistair took a deep breath and knocked on the door to Cullen’s office.

“Enter.”

Alistair rolled his eyes and did. “You do know I don’t actually work for you, right? You could answer literally anything else, like, ‘Come in,’ or ‘Hi, honey,’ or ‘Only if you use the safe word.’”

Cullen looked up from his pages of parchment — honestly, how much paperwork could a small retirement home for templars really have? — and gave him a stern look. It was undercut, though, a little by the sexy spectacles Dagna had made him to ease the strain on his eyes while reading, but mostly by the absolutely _adorable_ way his cheeks pinked.

“Oh, no,” Alistair said, frowning in concern. “Did you forget it? It’s —”

“Was there something specific you wanted to talk about?” Cullen asked, raising his voice to drown out Alistair lest all of the _no one_ around hear their shameful, secret sex talk.

And always straight to the point. Alistair sighed. “Yes, but it’s much less fun to talk about.” He waved the letter he still held in his hand. “I’ve been summoned.”

That got Cullen’s attention, enough that he took off his spectacles — disappointing — and turned completely toward Alistair — slightly encouraging. “To where?”

“Not far, and not for long. Some darkspawn were spotted in central Ferelden. A day to get there, a couple days to root them out and close the entrance to the Deep Roads, a day back.”

“When do you leave?”

“Tomorrow at first light.”

Cullen nodded and reached for his spectacles, turning back to his piles of parchment. “Very well. I shall miss you, of course, but I should survive.”

Normally Alistair would have responded to Cullen’s dry sarcasm with something witty, and things might have devolved into far more enjoyable activities.

But not this evening. “You will, yes. I’m more concerned about our furry guest.”

Cullen froze in the middle of putting on his spectacles. “You cannot take it with you?”

_It_. Always _it _or _the creature_, never _him_ or even _the dog_. As if the little guy were some monster like a darkspawn and not a baby mabari.

“He’s a puppy, so no, Cullen, I am not going to take him with me to fight darkspawn!” Alistair tried to bite his tongue, but missed as it made itself a moving target. “And I’m disappointed and a little disturbed that you need that spelled out for you.”

Cullen tossed his spectacles haphazardly onto his desk and rubbed his eyes.

“It’s a few days,” Alistair said dryly. “I think you’ll survive.”

He immediately regretted that, and continued to when Cullen didn’t move even after a few seconds.

“If it’s any consolation,” Alistair said, “I’m going to see if I can get one of my Wardens to take him, or if they know anyone who will.”

Cullen rubbed his hand down his face and looked at the wall with a frown. “Would a mabari fighting with the Wardens have to undergo the Joining?”

“No,” Alistair said, drawing out the word in his uncertainty about the shift in conversation. “Only people can become Wardens. But you don’t have to be a Warden to fight darkspawn. We had lots of help during the Blight and none of them were Wardens. Non-Wardens are susceptible to becoming Tainted, though, and mabari have to be especially careful not to accidentally swallow any blood.”

Cullen turned sharply at the word _Tainted_, and as he paled Alistair recalled (too late) that Cullen’s parents had both died from what most people called Blight Sickness.

“They attack with their teeth,” Cullen said. “How is it possible not to —”

Alistair shrugged. “Training. Same way they learn anything.” He couldn’t help but ask in a tone just a little too sharp, “Why? Worried for the little guy?”

“Merely curious.” Cullen fastidiously arranged papers on his desk for no apparent reason. “I’ll need to feed it, I assume?”

Alistair kept in his sigh of relief. He was happy Cullen wasn’t making this into a big argument. “And let him outside to go to the bathroom. That’s about it.”

“What does it eat, and how often?” Cullen had reached for his quill and was actually taking notes, and Alistair had to bite back a smile.

“Whatever and whenever I do, usually.”

Cullen turned his head slowly and raised an eyebrow, quill still in hand.

“What? Mabari can and will eat anything,” Alistair said, only a tad defensively. “I’ve been making extra and giving him half.”

Now Cullen raised both eyebrows. “Half of what _you_ eat?”

“Sometimes more.” Alistair gave a little half-smile. “He’s a growing puppy.”

Cullen sighed again and returned to writing. “And letting it out? How often?”

“He’ll let you know. He’s pretty much completely house-trained now.”

At that, Cullen’s face went carefully blank. “You’ve been training it?”

“I figured I might as well, considering I have the time and it will make my life easier. Plus that’s one less thing for whoever adopts him to worry about.” And one more bonus of getting a free mabari.

Cullen nodded, aiming a muttered, “Of course,” at the parchment.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Alistair snapped.

Cullen put down his quill, then stood and walked to Alistair, placing a hand on each of Alistair’s arms.

“Only that you are both practical and kind.” He kissed Alistair on the forehead, and then embraced him. “I love you, and I will miss you. And yes, I will take care of … what have you been calling him?”

Alistair blinked and pulled back. This was more interest in the little guy than Cullen had ever showed. And _him_?

“Nothing. Just ‘little guy,’ I guess, but mostly I just look at him and talk.” He shrugged. “Why name him when he’s going to a new family any day now? That should be something they do.”

“That is … also practical and kind.” Cullen had an odd look on his face, like the one he got when he was thinking too much.

“You’ll be okay?” Alistair asked. He worried that this would be painful for Cullen, being forced more than usual to be in the proximity of something that could remind him of her.

And for the record, it wasn’t that Alistair didn’t love her or miss her. He did, every day. That wouldn’t have changed, regardless of the little guy’s presence, any more than her presence changed how much he still loved Liss’s boy or some of the mabari from Redcliffe. He just wished Cullen could see that.

“I’ll be fine,” Cullen said, in the bland way he always said those words. “Like we said, it’s only a few days. I’ll survive.”

Alistair wanted to believe him, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that without him there, Cullen might be permanently changed. And, with Cullen’s current state being what it was, Alistair didn’t have much hope it would be for the better.

* * *

“Cullen?”

Cullen blinked his eyes open to Alistair’s gentle smile. Instinctually, he smiled back.

And then he remembered why Alistair would be awake and dressed when it was still dark.

“Don’t get up,” Alistair said just as Cullen attempted to.

He was crouched or kneeling at Cullen’s side of the bed, and the way he stroked Cullen’s hair had Cullen nearly fading to sleep again.

“I’m sorry to wake you, my dear,” Alistair whispered. “But I selfishly wanted to say goodbye, and I thought you might be annoyed if I didn’t.”

Cullen’s heart throbbed as it always did when Alistair left, and his chest ached as he realized this was the first time since she had passed. He would be alone in his loneliness, and that was never a good thing.

Alistair continued to stroke his hair. “I fed the little guy already and took him out, so you shouldn’t need to worry about him until lunchtime.”

Cullen stopped breathing for a second, and when he resumed, a sharp pain stabbed his already sore heart with every beat.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” Of course Alistair noticed. He always did. It was why Cullen loved him so much.

And also, occasionally, hated him.

“I’ll be fine,” he croaked, though from sleep or … something else, he wasn’t sure. “Come home to me safe, please.”

Alistair cradled his face in those calloused, long-fingered hands that had always been so gentle with him. “Always.”

Their goodbye kisses were always sweet and passionate and full of anxiety, the world left waiting in tension like an unresolved chord until they could kiss each other hello again, finishing the song together and happy.

“I love you, and I’ll see you in a few days,” Alistair whispered.

And with a final peck on the forehead, he was out the door and riding away.

Four days (at least), alone with the … creature. He would like nothing more than to ignore it and nurse his aching loneliness in peace, but he was not so cruel as to cause direct harm to a being of the Maker’s creation. He would ensure its survival and general comfort, but that was all, and he certainly wouldn’t enjoy it.

In fact, he expected every moment in the creature’s presence to exacerbate the barely healed breaks of his scarred heart.

Unable to return to sleep, he rose, dressed, and shut himself in his office to begin his day.

* * *

The first reminder he was not alone in the house came hours later, in the form of several urgent, high-pitched yaps from down the hall.

Upon realizing the hour was approaching two in the afternoon, he jumped to his feet, opened his office door, and strode quickly down the hall to release the creature from the spare room.

“Sorry,” he murmured after the thing, who ran to the front door and yapped until Cullen could open it, too.

It lifted its leg against a post of the porch and urinated, and Cullen sighed. Male animals were always more troublesome than females, who did not feel the need to mark their territory in such a way, and of course Alistair had found a _male_ to try and “fix” him with. When finished with the post, the creature ran back and forth in front of the porch several times before stopping, sniffing, and repeating the process until it finally seemed to find a satisfactory spot. Then it proceeded to circle the spot at least five times — Maker, was it not dizzy? — before it relieved itself in a rather large pile right at the bottom of the steps. Then it ran back to sit at Cullen’s feet, tongue lolling and tail wagging along the ground.

“Congratulations, you are capable of two basic instincts.” Cullen glared down at it, arms crossed. “You are surely a purebred mabari.”

The thing jumped up, ran in a circle, and yapped.

Cullen rolled his eyes. “And intelligent, too.” He stepped aside to let the animal into the house.

It ran to the kitchen, where Cullen made two simple sandwiches of meat and some of Alistair’s cheese. He placed one on the plate on the floor, where it was attacked with vigor.

“At least you are capable of that,” he muttered, nibbling on his own sandwich. “Otherwise I might question your pedigree.”

The creature had, in fact, inhaled its food in a way not dissimilar to Alistair, so Cullen put the second half of his own sandwich on the plate.

The puppy looked up and tilted its head, as if in question.

“I’m finished. Go on.”

At that, it gave a whine and lay down, settling its head on its paws.

“It’s the same thing you ate,” Cullen protested. “And I am neither a Warden nor a growing puppy and do not have either of your appetites.”

Truth be told, he didn’t have much of an appetite at all these days, but the puppy didn’t need to know that.

It snuffled, though, and turned its head away just enough for Cullen to understand its refusal.

He snatched the sandwich and tossed it onto the counter. “‘Mabaris will eat anything,’” he mocked Alistair, then glared at the puppy. “What good are you if you won’t eat leftovers?”

Not wanting to waste the sandwich — or rather, Alistair’s cheese, as he’d never hear the end of it — Cullen quickly ate the rest and strode to the spare room.

“In,” he ordered.

The puppy whined and bowed its little head, but did as it was told.

Cullen shut the door and returned to his office.

* * *

The next few days followed a similar pattern. Cullen rose with the sun, let the puppy out, and made them breakfast. Then he headed for the sanctuary — leaving the puppy behind — and stayed for a few hours until lunch, when he repeated the process before closing himself in his office for the afternoon. Then dinner, more work, and bed.

The only changes to the pattern were slight modifications to his rules based on a better understanding of the creature. The last thing Cullen wanted was for Alistair to return and claim that he’d neglected it.

First, he quickly discovered that the puppy flatly refused to eat any more than half of whatever food they ate, likely out of whatever habit he’d developed with Alistair. When Cullen, as a test, made them both less food and tried to feed his leftovers to the surely hungry puppy, he received the same reaction as at other times — a head tilt, a whine, a turn of the head away, until Cullen gave up and ate the rest. Another time, Cullen tried to save some of his own food to eat later, but the puppy actually jumped onto the counter to get at the leftovers. Thinking he was still hungry, Cullen offered them to him (once he was back on the floor), but again, the puppy refused to eat any more until Cullen was forced to finish the food. He did seem to enjoy licking Cullen’s empty plate clean, though.

For every meal after, Cullen made more than he himself wanted but diligently ate every bite and let the puppy lick the plate clean, lest the puppy go hungry from lack of a good example to follow.

Similarly, Cullen decided it wouldn’t hurt for the puppy to be allowed to wander the house, as long as he didn’t enter his office. Thus, the door to the spare room stayed open, but Cullen’s office door remained closed. When the puppy needed to go outside or eat, he let Cullen know by scratching at the door. Although their frequency — relief trips outside halfway between mealtimes, rather than at the same time — led to Cullen being interrupted every few hours instead of every six, he grew less annoyed and more concerned until the anticipation of the scratch at his door had him checking on the puppy early, only to find him napping in Alistair’s chair. Though his heart gave a twinge at the sight — that had been one of her favorite sleeping spots — Cullen decided a sleeping puppy meant fewer interruptions and let him stay.

Cullen even allowed the puppy full run of the house at night, excepting the bedroom, since the puppy had proven his ability to sleep until dawn. The sole exception had been on the second night, when he’d woken Cullen with scratching on the bedroom door and several rather loud barks. But as Cullen had been in the midst of a nightmare at the time, he couldn’t be upset; in fact, he sat outside on the porch, allowing the cool, fresh air to clear his head, for so long after the puppy had relieved himself that the little guy had rested his head on Cullen’s foot and dozed until Cullen decided to go back to bed.

They seemed to have reached an understanding, and the routine brought Cullen a comfort he’d lacked since she passed. He continued to visit her grave daily and carry her collar in his pocket, of course, but there was something about having non-negotiable tasks that the work at the sanctuary he’d been doing in the interim — daily visits, biweekly inventories, and immediate responses to letters, all nonessential — just … hadn’t fulfilled in him.

Nevertheless, when the message from Alistair arrived on the fourth morning, apologizing for his misestimation and promising his arrival late the following day, Cullen was grateful for the news.

Because he wasn’t sure he liked this new routine. As comfortable as the days had been, there was a subtle but growing discomfort settling in the pit of his stomach.

“There’s no point getting used to it,” he told her that morning, Alistair’s letter still in his hand. “Alistair’s likely found him a home with one of his Wardens. He’ll be much happier fighting darkspawn, to be sure.”

She tilted her head, not unlike the puppy did when Cullen didn’t eat — which did not ease the rapidly increasing discomfort.

“No, he didn’t say that in the letter,” he said, slightly defensive. “But you could barely even call it a letter. All it says is, ‘Sorry, darkspawn don’t like schedules. Everyone okay, home late tomorrow. Love you, Alistair.’ And then he makes a joke in the postscript about a new safe word.” Cullen’s cheeks only slightly heated at that. “Maker help him if anyone intercepted this.”

She rested her head on her paws and whined, just like the puppy did when Cullen hadn’t finished his food.

“Why would I be worried?” he asked, frowning. “Alistair said mabari can be trained to fight darkspawn without succumbing to the Taint. The Hero of Ferelden’s mabari fought beside them during the Blight and survived.” Another whine. “Yes, I know Alistair’s grown attached, but we are fine without another mabari. I don’t want one.”

A snort.

“I don’t!” He sighed and shoved her collar back in his pocket. “I should feed him before he starts to whine in that pitiful way of his.”

As he stood and turned to leave, she barked sharply.

“What would you know, anyway?” he snapped, whirling around. “You’re just a figment of my lyrium-addled mind because you died and left me here alone!” His voice gave out, much to his surprise, and that great big emptiness that formed when she went to the Maker’s side gaped large and painful in his chest. “I just can’t,” he whispered. “Not again.”

And he strode back to the house, leaving only silence behind him.

* * *

Try as he might, even the unnecessary review of the sanctuary’s meager finances could not keep him from shifting his blurry gaze to her collar, which seemed to glare at him from its place of honor at the front and center of his desk. Every time he was interrupted by another meal or relief break, he grew more irritated and upset.

By midafternoon, he’d given up attempting to work on anything and just stared at the ceiling, heart on the edge of shattering all over again.

So when the scratching at his door started, he stayed where he was.

But Alistair’s little guy would not be ignored.

His urgency increased dramatically over the course of only a few minutes, going from light scratches to heavy scratches to whines to yaps to several loud barks.

Cullen wiped his face roughly and jerked open the door. “What?” he shouted.

Utterly unfazed, the puppy wagged his tail and jogged down the hall.

“You went out an hour ago. You don’t need to go again.”

A whine, and then he jogged back, ran a circle around Cullen’s legs, and moved toward the back door again.

Cullen rolled his eyes and stomped after him.

When Cullen arrived at the door and opened it, the puppy spun around, sprinting between Cullen’s legs and back into the office.

“Hey!” Cullen yelled, reaching his office just in time to see the creature snatch her collar off his desk and head right towards him.

Before Cullen even had time to react, the Maker-forsaken creature had darted between his legs again, running down the hall and out the door.

“Stop!” Cullen shouted, panting.

Maker damn Alistair. Cullen was far too old to be chasing a puppy around, much less one that —

Cullen nearly tripped.

The bastard was headed toward her grave, the length of her collar not held in his mouth fluttering along behind him, and the little demon actually turned around to make sure Cullen was following before barking and speeding up.

“Maker’s breath, stop it!” Cullen nearly screeched. “_Stop!_”

And he did. Right at the edge of her grave.

As Cullen caught up to him, the puppy gently placed her collar on her grave, circled it, and lay down, curling his body around it. Then he looked up with the saddest eyes Cullen had ever seen on any animal — even her in her final moments — whined, and rested his head on top of her collar.

Cullen skidded to a stop on his knees, tears streaming down his cheeks. “Stop, please,” he begged the puppy. “Please give it back. That’s mine. I need it.”

The puppy whined again and rubbed the side of his head against the fresh grass above where she lay.

“Yes, it belonged to her, so please, please give it back.”

He buried his face in his hands and bent almost all the way to the ground. Why? Why did it still hurt so much?

A nuzzling against his head only made him angry.

He shoved at the puppy. “Go away!” he snapped.

But, as if he was attached to him by a spring, the puppy returned, whimpering and pawing at Cullen’s hands, trying to pull them away from his face.

“Stop it!” he screamed. “She was special, and you can’t replace her! I don’t want you!”

He shouted into his hands, he pounded the ground, he tore at his hair, anything to ease the pressure in his chest.

None of it seemed to work. Eventually he collapsed into the grass, exhausted.

He lay there, wallowing in it all, for a few blessed moments.

Then he felt two little paws on his shoulder. But before he could push him away again, the little guy let loose an achingly beautiful song — not quite a howl, but not quite a cry, either. A single long, drawn-out note, lasting until his little lungs couldn’t take anymore, followed by a second’s silence while he drew enough air to repeat it again.

It was sad and sweet, painful, scared, and somehow a little hopeful, too. Cullen loved and hated it because he both did and didn’t understand it, and he couldn’t comprehend how such a tiny thing could create a melody so complex, haunting, and perfect.

All he knew was that it sounded exactly like he felt inside, and hearing it eased his pain.

He didn’t know how long he knelt there listening, but eventually he pushed himself upright and watched as the little guy shifted to place his paws on Cullen’s knees, never breaking the soul-rending song.

And without another thought, he scooped the sweet little thing into his arms, burying his face in his fur.

The song ceased with a little hiccup as the puppy adjusted to its new position. He whimpered and whined and nuzzled until he freed his head, and then he began to lick Cullen’s cheeks, drying his tears.

“I’m sorry,” Cullen murmured into the dark, reddish-brown fur that he hadn’t realized until now — because he’d refused to touch the little guy until now — was as soft as the beds in the Winter Palace. “I just miss her so much. But that’s not your fault, and I’m sorry.”

The precious pup in his arms didn’t cease its nuzzling and licking until Cullen finally gave him some room to breathe. When Cullen set him down on the ground to adjust his own legs into a more comfortable sitting position, the little guy climbed into his lap and curled into a ball, settling into the crooks made by his knees. He closed his little eyes and within a few moments was asleep.

Cullen stroked his adorably small head between his little ears. “But I guess you’re pretty special, too. You have a very pretty voice, little one. And …”

All at once, the events of the past few days slotted into place like a properly calibrated trebuchet.

Since Alistair had left, Cullen had eaten more, worked less, taken more frequent (as in, any at all) breaks, slept better, felt less lonely, and been overall happier than he had in months.

Cullen chuckled. “I suppose that’s what you’ve been trying to tell me all this time,” he said, though to which mabari, even he wasn’t sure.

One hand constantly petting and scratching the little guy, he reached out the other and picked up her collar.

He remembered what Alistair had said to him the day after they’d buried her.

_“Mabari live for one person, but we have to keep going because someday another one might need us, and they aren’t as selfish as we are.”_

Or, perhaps, because he might need another one.

His eyes stung as he rubbed her collar. “I suppose I should try being unselfish for a change, huh?”

The little guy in his lap didn’t budge, but he heard a deep, happy bark.

He nodded, shifted the little one to the crook of his arm, and patted the grass with the hand that held her collar.

Then he stood and sighed.

“You know what I’m not looking forward to?” he asked both and neither of them.

He heard in his head a little sneeze of a laugh, and he shook his head.

“Alistair is going to be absolutely unbearable,” he whispered to the little guy, turning around and heading back to the house.

* * *

Alistair sighed as he walked up the porch steps to the door. It was nice to finally be home.

The past week had been stressful, and for once the darkspawn were (mostly) blameless. During his whole trip he’d been worried about Cullen, about the little guy, about Cullen and the little guy, and about just what sort of damage, physical and emotional, might be awaiting him when he arrived.

The first odd thing when he entered was that there were no lights in the entire house. No fire in the main room, no light in the office for Cullen to be working (or sleeping) by, no light in the bedroom for Cullen to be reading (or sleeping) by.

Nothing. Sure, it was late, but not that late. Cullen rarely slept when he was gone — at least not by choice, and therefore, not without light.

Alistair crept down the hall to find the door to the spare room wide open. He snatched a candle and matches from somewhere — only stubbing his toe once — and lit them.

Nothing. No puppy. Not even the blankets Alistair had left for his makeshift bed.

That was worrying. Cullen wouldn’t have given him away without Alistair getting a chance to say goodbye, would he? Also, _how_? Cullen had far fewer friends than Alistair did, and even Alistair hadn’t succeeded in pawning the little guy off on anyone.

He shook his head and continued down the hall to Cullen’s office.

Nothing. No light, no Cullen, no puppy. Except —

The bundle of blankets from the spare room lay on the floor next to Cullen’s desk.

Alistair’s heart leapt. But no, he shouldn’t get excited. Cullen had made his feelings perfectly clear. And yet …

In the kitchen, the plate and bowl remained on the floor in the same place as when he’d left.

In the main room, a blanket Alistair had never seen before was laying in a heap on his chair. As he approached, his foot hit something.

A stuffed doll that looked like a mabari.

His hand flew to his mouth. Andraste’s flaming sword, had the little guy actually done it?

He gently shifted the blanket, trying not to wake the little guy.

Nothing. Where else could he be?

Alistair’s head whipped in the direction of the bedroom. And in seconds, he was at the door and opening it softly.

Two eyes, glowing in his meager candlelight, blinked at him from a confusing height. As his vision adjusted, Alistair had to hold onto the door jamb for support.

There was the little guy, alert, staring at him from his comfortable place on Cullen’s chest.

Alistair pinched himself. Surely he was dreaming. Even she hadn’t been allowed on the bed. (She hadn’t been a puppy, true, but Cullen had been adamant.)

His eyes roamed and landed on another bundle of blankets in the corner. He pressed his lips together to keep from smiling. Seemed like the little guy wasn’t technically allowed on the bed, either.

And yet, as Alistair entered the room for a closer look, Cullen’s hand rested on the little guy’s back. That didn’t look much like “not technically allowed” to him.

He placed the candle on his own nightstand and sat on the bed. The little guy’s mouth opened, tongue hanging, and his tail whapped ever so gently against Cullen’s chest.

Alistair scratched his head. “What in Thedas were you up to while I was gone?”

The little guy shimmied quite carefully out from under Cullen’s arm and crawled into Alistair’s lap, standing on his back legs to lick Alistair’s cheek.

That was when Alistair noticed the collar.

It had no name tag hanging from it, but it was undoubtedly a mabari collar.

Alistair grinned and hugged the little guy tightly. “You are a Maker-damned miracle worker.”

They snuggled for a bit, with Alistair giving the little guy as many pets and scratches as he wanted. He took a break only to change out of his armor and climb into bed with them both.

He was drifting into the Fade, arm slung over Cullen and their new family member, when the little guy, who had once again settled on Cullen’s chest, perked up. Alistair lifted his head to see what had caused it.

The little guy lay absolutely still except for his twitching ears, sniffing and watching Cullen intently.

The exact instant that Cullen’s face shifted from peaceful to troubled sleep, the little guy leapt into action. He stood and began to bring his front paws up and down in light taps on Cullen’s chest, whimpering and nuzzling Cullen’s face with his nose. When Cullen turned his head away in still unconscious annoyance, the little guy began to lick all over his face.

After a few seconds, Cullen brought up a hand and swatted gently at the little guy’s head. With a slight chuckle, he murmured, “Stop. ‘M awake.”

Alistair watched all this in awe, until the little guy nuzzled Cullen’s face toward him and Cullen’s eyes opened just enough to see him.

The smile Cullen gave him made his heart flutter. It was peaceful and sleepy and happy; Alistair hadn’t seen him so content in months.

“You’re home,” Cullen whispered. “Missed you.”

“I don’t know, seems like you’ve been pretty busy.”

“Mmm, tomorrow.” Cullen rolled to his side, displacing the little guy who somewhat clumsily settled on Alistair’s chest.

“What?”

“Sleep now.” Cullen wrapped an arm around Alistair and pulled him close. “Say ‘told you so’ tomorrow.”

Alistair twined their fingers and kissed the back of Cullen’s hand. “I love you so much.”

Cullen mumbled something that Alistair assumed was _I love you, too._ The little guy settled in to sleep on his chest, and Alistair scratched his ears and said, “Good boy.”

As Cullen held him and their new family member close, Alistair thought that maybe, just this once, being right didn’t matter.

* * *

Alistair woke when the bed shifted, heart as full as it had been last night — and still was, he realized with a quiet smile. He stayed in bed, watching Cullen noisily dress in between long blinks.

Although to be fair, it wasn’t technically Cullen that was being noisy.

The little guy skittered and stomped, seeming to run literal circles around Cullen and even jumping up high enough once that Alistair saw his little ears.

“Contain yourself,” Cullen whispered, and Alistair rolled away to stifle his laugh into his pillow. That was his Cullen, always so serious and formal even with an excitable puppy.

The little guy responded to Cullen by letting out a short, sharp bark.

Cullen, who now sat on the bed, urgently hissed, “Quietly. Alistair is asleep.”

The little guy barked more softly.

“Better,” Cullen said, and it was both a compliment and a challenge — one he used often with his soldiers.

The little guy let out a quiet doggy snort.

“Best,” Cullen declared. “Good boy.”

Unfortunately, that excited the little guy again. He leapt up onto the bed, put two paws on Alistair’s back, and barked, nice and loud.

“No!” Cullen hissed, but Alistair couldn’t hold it in anymore and burst into laughter.

“I’m awake,” he said, rolling over and nuzzling the little guy, earning an eagerly licked cheek.

“I’m sorry. I intended to let you sleep.”

The smile on Cullen’s face was so brilliant and bright it brought tears to Alistair’s eyes.

“Don’t apologize. It’s worth it to see you so happy.”

Cullen undercut his eye roll with that smile. “All right. Get it over with.”

Alistair shook his head. “I’m just happy to see you smile again. I missed it.”

Now Cullen’s brow furrowed. “Are you going to be okay?” He cupped Alistair’s cheek, wiping away a tear track.

Alistair nodded but found he couldn’t stop the tears, which carried with them enormous relief. “I was so worried,” he said, placing his own hand atop Cullen’s.

Cullen leaned in and placed a lingering kiss on his forehead and each of his cheeks. “I know, and I’m sorry. Thank you for not giving up on me.”

And then their lips met, and Cullen tasted _right_ again, happy and passionate and loved, and Alistair thanked the Maker for bringing him back, and for everything that had led them to their little guy.

Who decided then to yip and lick both their faces, ending the kiss with groans of disgust.

“Rule number one of this house,” Alistair grumbled, rubbing the slobber off his cheek. “None of that. Ew.”

Cullen chuckled, his hand moving without hesitation to scratch the little guy’s head.

“Do you remember him waking you last night?” Alistair asked, hoping that Cullen would say yes. He wanted to make sure he hadn’t dreamt it.

“A little.” Cullen nodded, that beautiful, peaceful smile appearing again. “Mostly I remember you being there when I did.”

“He sat at attention before you even looked like your sleep was troubled.” Alistair shook his head. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Cullen chuckled. “Wait until you see what else he can do. But …” He looked away, still absently petting the little guy. “You didn’t — did you find someone in the Wardens who might …?”

His jaw tightened, and Alistair heard him swallow.

Five days ago — Maker, not even twelve hours ago — Alistair had imagined Cullen asking that question very differently.

“He already has a home.” Just as Cullen’s face began to fall — Maker bless the big dolt — Alistair pointed at the little guy. “Look, he’s got a collar and everything. No name tag, though.”

Those amber eyes lit up like Alistair hadn’t seen in months as Cullen looked away shyly and said, “I thought we might name him together. But —” he added, lifting a stern finger. “I veto ‘Barkspawn’ outright.”

Before Alistair could challenge the utter unfairness of that veto, Cullen added, even more seriously, “And no fighting darkspawn, either.”

Huh. Alistair pressed his lips together to hold in a smile. So he _had_ cared.

“That’s far more reasonable than your unjustified veto,” said Alistair, faux-grumbling. “Agreed. No darkspawn except in an emergency.”

Cullen clenched his jaw again. “Perhaps not even then.” Turning to the little guy and frowning, he added, almost to himself, “Maybe I should start training you not to swallow darkspawn blood.”

Alistair secretly rejoiced, but outwardly groaned. “This is going to be the fireball thing all over again!”

“She never did learn to dodge.” Cullen shook his head sadly, but not in grief; in fact, he’d spoken directly to her with the same disappointment when she was alive. Then he perked up and once again spoke to the little guy. “But you’re a puppy. Perhaps _you_ can be trained to dodge fireballs.”

Alistair’s cheeks were hurting from smiling so much. To see Cullen joking and planning a training regimen for their mabari (again) with that Commander gleam in his eyes made his heart happy.

Then Cullen seemed to shake himself and kissed Alistair on the forehead. “But you must be exhausted. We’ll get out of your hair while you get some rest. Come on, little one. Many of the residents will be expecting you again.”

“You took him with you?” Alistair asked. Even she hadn’t been able to visit for a long time after they’d begun accepting patients.

The news deflated him a little. The templar home was very definitively Cullen’s project. Alistair wanted nothing to do with it, and if Cullen had decided the little guy would be involved in it ...

“He’s very popular already,” Cullen explained. “I have hope that his gift for helping will not be restricted to me.”

“Oh.” Alistair lay back down and closed his eyes. “That’s — I’m glad.”

It figured. He’d brought the little guy home, taken care of him for weeks, fallen in love with him, and now, after only five days away, his little mabari had gone and imprinted on Cullen, the man who had barely acknowledged his existence until a few days ago.

Two mabari, two imprints. That sounded like Cullen. Alistair had been around mabari all his life, and not one had ever imprinted on him.

Story of his life, really.

A flurry of small, awkward bumps against his abdomen and then a comforting weight settled on his chest. The little guy whined, and Alistair opened his eyes to him nuzzling his chin and face.

“I — no.” Alistair tried to shove him off, but he wouldn’t budge. “Go with Cullen. I need to sleep.”

Alistair tried to roll over onto his side, but somehow the little guy seemed to grow heavier, like he was pressing his entire body down harder into Alistair’s chest.

Cullen smiled, petting the little guy. “It seems he’s decided someone else needs him today. The sanctuary residents can wait.”

The little guy lifted a tiny paw and rested it on Alistair’s cheek, and Alistair’s chest filled will so much love for him that it actually hurt. So he wrapped his arms around the little guy and buried his face in the softest fur he’d ever felt.

“I’ve been thinking about what you told me, about mabari only loving one person,” said Cullen. “I’m not sure that’s true.”

Alistair pulled back to look at the little guy, amazed at the implication. “You think a mabari can imprint on two people?”

“Or perhaps imprinting is not as important as some believe.” Cullen leaned in and whispered to the little guy, “I missed him, too.”

The little guy wagged his tail in apparent agreement, and Alistair almost exploded from the dual cuteness.

“How about a compromise?” Cullen asked. “We all eat breakfast and spend the morning together, and then when you inevitably need to sleep later, the little one and I can take a walk to the sanctuary.”

Alistair grinned. “Sounds good to me. What do you think?”

The little guy barked.

“Get back in here, then,” Alistair ordered Cullen, who chuckled and began to undress.

While he waited, the soothing softness, rhythm, and weight of the little guy on his chest made him drowsy, and he let his eyes droop.

Between long blinks, he saw Cullen pull something from the pocket of his pants and smirk before opening the drawer of the nightstand and placing it inside.

Her collar.

Alistair smiled, too. “Good boy,” he whispered to the little guy on his chest.

Then Cullen was wrapping his arm around him, and Alistair was almost asleep when Cullen whispered drowsily, “We should send Leliana a letter thanking her.”

Alistair’s eyes snapped open. “How did you —”

Cullen chuckled. “Get some rest, love, and I’ll tell you when you wake up.”

“She said he made her question her love of nugs,” Alistair murmured. She’d wanted credit if it worked, anyway.

“Of course he did,” said Cullen.

Alistair squeezed their (sleeping) little guy, drifting into the Fade for the first time in months truly happy, content, and hopeful.

**Author's Note:**

> Several of my DA fic friends have lost their furry companions in the past few months, so I’d also like to dedicate this to them and their furry friends (especially [Eravalefantasy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eravalefantasy) and [Lorekeeper427](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoreKeeper427/pseuds/LoreKeeper427)), and to anyone who has ever lost a beloved pet.
> 
> And lastly, I want to dedicate this to my own fur babies, especially my dog, E.J., a very good girl who is getting up there in years and who received lots of extra hugs during the writing of this fic.


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